


Of Green Blankets and Office Naps

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: On the Outside Looking In [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: CEO! Oliver, CEOliver, Domestic, Domestic Felicity Smoak, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Oliver Queen, EA! Felicity, F/M, Fluff, Moira Queen Lives, Oliver falls asleep in the office, Season 2 Olicity, Slow Burn, Soft Oliver Queen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, domestic olicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 02:05:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18298058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: When Moira Queen goes to drop off some documents in Oliver’s office, she happens upon a certain blonde unknowingly chattering away to a sleeping Oliver and watches in fascination at the almost domestic way Felicity pries off his shoes and gently pulls off the tie from around his neck.(Or, a very tired Oliver falls asleep in his office, Felicity makes him comfortable when he refuses to wake up, and Moira watches in awe as the computer genius dances around the office, closing the blinds and shutting down his computer, without so much as a grunt from the man that can never seem to sleep in the presence of anyone else.)





	Of Green Blankets and Office Naps

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends - once again, there will probably be many typos. I typed this up in about 20 minutes to a half hour. I just want to get it posted rather than spend a bunch of time perfecting it. My goal for these small drabbles is to be quick and serve as a way for me to write daily/weekly, ya feel?
> 
> Thanks so much for the great response on "Apple Sauce!" Who knew that such a small moment could be so loved? Just know, I love you all so, so, so much more!
> 
> Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

 

It's the sound of a voice that stops Moira Queen dead in her tracks.

She’s on her way to drop off a few forms for Oliver to sign – for tomorrow, of course. There’s _no_ way she’d think he’d still be here, what with the sun already far below Starling City’s skyline and the buzz of the night life filtering up from the streets. But when she exits the elevator, it’s the chime-like babbling of a certain I.T. genius filling the air that pulls the Queen Matriarch to a quick stop.

Moira steps back into the shadows as she watches the young woman finish tapping out something on her keyboard. The blonde – Felicity, as she has come to know – swivels in her chair, pen trapped between her teeth, before gathering up a stack of papers and moving towards Oliver’s office.

“Hey Oliver,” Felicity starts, voice muffled behind the pile of papers and folders she’s carrying in her arms. She starts rambling about the newest acquisition that had been put on Oliver’s desk this morning. There’s a whole lot of tech nonsense filtering out of the girl’s mouth that Moira really isn’t able to understand, and for a moment she’s more impressed than confused as to why the two of them are still at the office well past the day’s end.

She supposes that question can be applied to herself as well, but that’s neither here nor there.

It takes Felicity about ten seconds to realize that Oliver isn’t responding, and when her eyes flash up in search of his own, it’s to find the billionaire slumped back against the couch, eyes closed and laptop still open in his lap.

Felicity pauses then, and Moira watches as the blonde tilts her head to the side, a small smile forming on her strawberry stained lips. Soon enough, Felicity is wandering around the office. She’s pulling the blinds shut, powering down his desktop, dusting the little bit of lunch Oliver had had into the dustbin - even leaning across Oliver’s body to gather the papers that had been strewn around him.

Oliver doesn’t move.

 He doesn’t even _flinch_ as Felicity dances around him, and he sleeps right through the click clack of heels and the swish of her dress and the light humming that falls past her lips. 

Moira can feel her jaw drop – she can feel the way her hand falls against her mouth as she processes the scene before her. Where her Oliver lay almost like a statue now, completely dead to the world around him, she can only remember the instances after the island that involved a very much so _not_ sleeping Oliver.

She knows that Oliver had had to acquire a particular sense of awareness on the island to stay alive. Hell, she’s more thankful than anything else that he was actually able to. It’s that awareness that brought him back home.

It’s also that awareness that she’d like to think keeps him prowling the halls of the mansion at night – that keeps him wide awake when the world is fast asleep.

The older Queen is smart enough to know, though, that Oliver’s hyperawareness isn’t the problem at all.

_He doesn’t feel safe._

Not even in his own home. The realization had slammed into Moira when Oliver had first come home, a few days after she and Walter had found him thrashing around in the claws of a nightmare.

She had wandered down his hall – had gently pressed open the door just to reassure himself that he was warm and safe and _home._ And, while she had seen him asleep in his bed, it only took a few seconds for Oliver’s eyes to flash open. He had looked directly at her upon waking, as calm and collected as ever, and it was then that Moira realized her boy had truly changed.

But now Moira stares in surprise as Felicity finally walks up to Oliver, hands reaching out to grab the computer from his lap and set it aside. She’s almost on the verge of saying no – of warning the blonde that a sleeping Oliver isn’t always a safe Oliver. She remembers all too well the first night Oliver had been back – how he had not known where he was or who she was – who _he_ was.

The words are almost out of her mouth when Felicity’s hand meets his shoulder. She gives him a small shake and Moira stares, wide eyed and heart pounding, as Oliver’s mouth merely pulls into a small frown. Felicity gives him another squeeze, this time harder, and all Oliver does is let out a small grumble before shifting slightly against the cushions.

“Oliver,” Felicity whispers as she sits down on the small coffee table before him. “C’mon wake up, you need a bed, not this excuse for a couch.” She pauses, lip trapped between her teeth as she waits for a response. 

“ _Oliver,_ ” Felicity says a little louder, her small laugh tinted with amused frustration as a small smile flashes across her features. The sleeping man before her doesn’t react at all. If anything, he seems to fall into an even deeper sleep, and the slight frown on his lips gives way to let out a content sigh.

It’s with a loud huff that Felicity gets up and starts maneuvering her way around the table. Moira can hear her muttering to herself – can hear the little comments falling from the blonde’s lips of _you’re ruining your dress shirt_ and _you didn’t even eat dinner, Oliver, and you get mad if I skip a snack_ that let her know that the relationship between the two was far deeper than just executive assistant and CEO.

But what really stops her heart is when Felicity suddenly leans over and pulls at Oliver’s shoulders in an attempt to arrange him into a lying down position. It happens so suddenly – so quickly – that for a moment Moira thinks nothing has happen. But then Felicity is pushing against Oliver’s chest until he’s finally stretched out over the cushions.

Rather than the jolting awake or pulling the young I.T. expert into some sort of headlock like Moira expects, Oliver lets Felicity poke and prod at him. Felicity hops over the coffee table before grabbing at his feet, pulling his shoes off one by one and settling his legs on the cushions.

And it really is a sight to see – Oliver strewn out across the couch cushions. He’s far too big and the couch is far too small and more of his body is off of it than on it, but Moira’s also sure that she’s never seen him more comfortable.

She suspects it has everything to do with the presence of a certain small blonde and absolutely nothing to do with the expensive leather of the couch, but she just leans against the wall and continues to watch the scene before her.

It’s only when Felicity steps back to admire her handy work that Oliver moves on his own, folding his arms across his chest and curling slightly into the back of the couch.

“Cold,” Moira hears her say. “You’re cold. One second.” Felicity starts walking towards her desk.

Moira presses herself against the cool wall, hoping and praying that the younger woman doesn’t look up from her spot near her desk.

“I knew keeping a blanket in my desk was smart.” Felicity continues to murmur to herself. “You and Digg always laugh because you guys suck, but _now_ look who’s benefiting, - ,” Felicity stops in her tracks, and Moira’s heart skips a beat because _she’s seen me_ but then Felicity’s bringing a palm to her forehead and scrunching her eyebrows.

“Stop talking to yourself, ya dum dum,” She manages out between gritted teeth. It’s with a shake of her head that Felicity bends down to retrieve the large, green blanket from her bottom desk drawer. She throws it around herself like a cape as she walks back into the office.

She’s back in at Oliver’s side within seconds and soon enough she’s placing the giant blanket over Oliver’s sleeping form. He wraps the material around him tighter, almost snuggling into the blanket as he takes a deep breath, and a small smile paints its way across Felicity’s face. She slowly crouches down by Oliver’s head, and for a second Moira thinks she might kiss him, but then she pulls away and she realizes that Felicity had somehow managed to remove Oliver’s tie without even a flinch from the man himself. Her hands had been on his neck and his breathing hadn’t so much as shifted.

There’s something close to awe painted on the Queen Matriarch’s face as Felicity swipes Oliver’s phone from his pocket, fingers tapping out his passcode in less than a second.

“Oliver?” The blonde tries one last time, and it’s only a small grunt from Oliver’s sleeping form that meets her inquisition.

Felicity rolls her eyes as she sets an alarm on his phone. She leans over and runs a thumb along his jaw, murmuring something – Moira can’t quite make it out - before straightening up and quietly leaving the office.

“I swear, Oliver Queen, you have a thousand beds in that mansion of yours and this is where you chose to pass out like a log.”

Felicity gathers her purse and coat in her hands, offering one last glance at her sleeping boss.

“Honestly, I’d _love_ to be in your bed.” Felicity smacks her hand to her face. “ _One_ of those beds. Not _your_ bed, God no.” Felicity lets out a nervous giggle.

Moira can see a blush creep down Felicity’s neck and any questions about whether she is sleeping with her son flies out the door.

 “Oh dear brain, why must you think of the _worst_ ways to say things?”

Moira holds her breath as Felicity passes her on her way to the elevator bank, and it’s a small smile that pulls its way onto the older woman’s face as Felicity’s babbling continues to echo off the walls.

It’s only when the elevator dings shut that Moira pushes off from against the wall and walks into the main area. Moonlight is streaming in through the glass windows, and she takes a second to just watch her son sleep through the transparent walls.

It’s almost like clockwork, the way his eyes snap open, and the piercing blue cuts through the shadow filled room like a knife.

Moira sighs, heart a little sad and head a little bowed, before making her way into the office.

“Mom.” Oliver croaks out as he pulls himself into a sitting position, and it’s that voice – that groggy, tired, _I just had a great nap_ voice that brings a smile to her face.

“Oliver. I’d have thought you’d be gone by now.”

Oliver shakes his head, “I don’t even remember fallin’ asleep.” His posture goes rigid when his eyes fall on Felicity’s empty chair, and it’s then that Moira understands just how much her son has come to rely on her.

“Felic - ,”

“Just left, I believe. She tried to wake you, but - ,” Moira trails off, watching Oliver thumb at the green blanket in his lap. He doesn’t seem surprised at the fact – doesn’t seem shocked that he had fallen asleep in the presence of another.

If anything, he seems a bit put out that he had slept through a certain blonde’s exit.

“C’mon,” Moira says, hand reaching out to her son. “Let’s go home.”

Oliver stares for a second before shaking his head, and he walks over to his mother.

“Yeah,” he lets out, voice barely a whisper. “Let’s go home.”

Moira Queen doesn’t miss the way Oliver’s eyes fall on a certain empty chair as he says the word ‘home.’

She also doesn’t miss the green blanket that’s clutched tightly between his arms.

Moira smiles. Home indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my dudettes and dudes (sorry for the typos, some of this may have been written with a little (lottle) wine in ma system due to my friend's b-day)!
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Love you allllllll!!! :)))


End file.
